Scooting To The Hairdresser

I took G for a haircut last week. Or, more accurately, G took herself, scooting along like this as I ambled along in front. We were only going a few streets from where we live, but it still took ages. So long in fact, I gave up after a while and had to pick both her and the scooter up, and walk to make sure we got there in time.

We would have got there sooner if G hadn't spent ten minutes refusing to put her helmet on before we got out of the house. Every time I went to fasten the clip of her strap tightly under her chin, she burst into tears and stomped off. On about the fifth time, I managed to distract her enough with something else to finally get her helmet on, and she realised it hadn't been anything worth getting upset about in the first place. Fifth time is better than five-hundredth time, but still, I don't intend to let her make a habit of it.